


i hope you like your name

by FaultyParagon



Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [30]
Category: RWBY
Genre: :), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Babies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjoy the heartache, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vignette, Willow Schnee-centric, because we all know what happens to this family in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Willow Schnee never wanted children. She never wanted a lover. She never wanted anything to do with the Schnee Dust Company. She was happy as a Huntress.Unexpected pregnancy changes a lot of things.-aka Willow’s journey to motherhood, told in nine out-of-order vignettes. Inspired by the song “Dear Winter” by AJR.
Relationships: Jacques Schnee/Willow Schnee, Willow Schnee & Klein Sieben, Willow Schnee & Winter Schnee
Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	i hope you like your name

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic I've wanted to write for around 1.5 years. Enjoy the tragedy of it all, realizing what happens in canon takes place after all of this.
> 
> The podfic is available!  
> [Part1](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/630159417611026432/podfic-for-part-13-of-i-hope-you-like-your) \- [Part 2](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/630250045116153856/podfic-for-part-23-of-i-hope-you-like-your-name) \- [Part3](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/630435219827212288/podfic-for-part-33-of-i-hope-you-like-your-name)

i hope you like your name

**x**

**two**

**x**

_This can’t be happening._

And yet, the test results do not lie.

She has not shed tears since her early days at Atlas Academy- her strength and resilience has kept her safe, and her adaptability knows no bounds, after all- but that night, she weeps openly. Klein knocks on her door, insistent and worried as only the young butler can be, for he is naught but dedication and care personified. She does not respond, however, simply staring at the results on the screen of the small test through puffy, red-rimmed eyes, the truth blurry with tears, yet still perfectly legible.

He offers to call her father. She tells him to stay his hand, for he must never know. She does not know how he would react if she told him; the shame that threatens to overwhelm her makes her nauseous, dizzy.

He does not deserve to come home and find out that his single daughter is pregnant from the only one-night-stand she has ever had.

However, it is once she is lucid and halfway through figuring out how to take leave to go to Vale to see a doctor and stop this pregnancy which she has _never wanted_ that she remembers that there is indeed someone else involved in this whole situation; the man. The father.

His name is Jacques. She remembers him. Her heart flutters at the way he had told her she was beautiful, her battle scars and built muscles and all. He had made love to her that night, and the chemistry between them had been undeniable; and she had, for the first time in _years,_ felt like she meant something to someone other than her father or the manor staff.

…she does not want to see him again. He has already seen her at her most vulnerable. She cannot risk more embarrassment, not as a Schnee.

What choice does she have, though?

It is not an appropriate use of Atlas’ systems, but Willow searches for his contact information anyways on the Academy’s server. The terror which courses through her veins feels so thick she wonders whether her heart will stop as she awaits his response after her message, for what if he doesn’t agree, doesn’t show up to chat?

Or worse, what if he _does?_

When he does indeed arrive two weeks later, she is still not ready.

His figure striding into the small, out-of-sight café is striking in the daylight- so different from the way they had first met. Yet, as his eyes land upon her, his face lights up in a way that no man’s has ever done in the Atlesian military.

She hates how much she likes that look.

He attempts to reign in his immediate flirtation, offering pleasantries in his business-like way despite his smiling eyes, for she has not yet told him of why he has been summoned. She feels almost guilty doing this to him. He is not ready, either.

The information is shared simply; a photograph on her Scroll, a confession left behind after her one night of no inhibitions. The mess in which she finds herself now is laid on the table for him to see. She wants to remain the stoic Huntress she knows she can be, but she cries anyways when she tells him, “I can’t be a mother. I’m a fighter.” She snorts through tears and snot and shame. “Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of it.”

Strangely enough, however… he does not agree. “You’re an amazing Huntress. I’ve heard so much about you, even as a civilian!” he gushes. “You can’t give that up, but you also have the right to have a _family,_ Willow.”

“I can’t have it both ways,” is all she says. “Not alone.”

“…who says you’re going to be alone?”

He takes her hand. He tells her how he shall help, how he is soon to finish up his academic studies, how he has been working many internships, how he feels ready to tackle the next stage of life. How he is not a fighter, nor an adventurer- and why that is the best thing for her and the child.

Quietly, he unmasks her childhood loneliness in only a few short minutes as he explains how no child deserves to grow up in an empty home, so he shall stay- to raise the child, to welcome her home each day.

“My family’s too complicated,” she tries to insist. “I’m wiping my hands clean of it-“

“I can help your father with the business, don’t you see?” he replies instantly, squeezing her hand gently. “I can stay here while he goes abroad, and we can work together, and you can continue doing what you love.” His touch is so unlike hers- not callused, not battle-worn. It is soft. It is kind.

And for some reason, despite all of her senses screaming and telling her that life isn’t this easy, she says, “…Okay.”

So, Jacques stays, and for the first time in a long, long time… Willow doesn’t feel alone anymore.

**x**

**seven**

**x**

The first kick is a splash of cold water, reality dousing her with dread, knocking her off-balance so profoundly that she grips onto the back of a nearby chair to maintain her footing. One hand flies to her stomach- swollen, tender, full- only to feel another little kick push against stretched skin.

“Holy fuck- Brothers above,” she mutters, the curse tasting utterly foreign upon her normally-professional tongue. She does not know how else to adequately explain the feelings of _terror_ which now grip her very core, threatening to bowl her over at a moment’s notice.

Jacques is not amused, by her side in an instant, dropping paperwork for the SDC’s latest deal with a client in Vacuo in a scattered heap upon his desk. At his worried expression, she simply grabs his hand and places it on her belly, watching as his eyes widen in awe and shock as another kick attacks the touch.

“She’s growing so fast,” Willow breathes, still dizzy from the realization that there truly is a child within her. It is not a dream.

Somehow, that makes it so much worse.

She totters on her feet, eliciting helping hands to guide her to the armchair by Jacques’ desk. “What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling down, checking her temperature with the back of his hand.

She barely hears him, her mind running a thousand miles a minute. “This is really happening, Jacques. But I’m- I’m not ready! What if she hates me one day?” she breathes. “What if she hates me? What if I’m not a good mom to her, or she’s angry that I’m on missions all the time, or-“

“It’ll be fine. I’m here, right?” The words are gentle as always, sweet and hanging in the air, settling upon her shoulders like a blanket- comforting, safe.

She blinks back tears, smiling weakly. The rings on their fingers are proof. He is serious about wanting to stay.

Then, his expression shifts to chastising her as he adds, “But maybe don’t curse. They can hear what you say _in utero,_ you know.”

The image of a tiny version of Willow staring back up at them dropping cusses is more than enough to turn that trembling smile into a full-on, vibrant grin. “It would be adorable though-“

“She will have an image to maintain as a Schnee,” he reminds her sternly. His touch is still kind, though, as he fixes her hair, stands up and heads back to his desk to sort out his files.

Willow rolls her eyes. She promises silently that she won’t teach the baby to swear- the teenager, however, will be fair game. Her own father would certainly get a kick out of it.

**x**

**four**

**x**

She cannot wait until she starts craving more ordinary foods, but there is a strange sense of satisfaction which lingers in her heart as she eats more pickles and jerky and ice cream in the same sitting. Although it certainly isn’t graceful, she grins and clears her throat as she asks, “I can help, if you want.”

Her fiancé- _Brothers,_ it still feels bizarre to even think of those words in relation to her, of all people- shakes his head, wiping sweat off his brow as he tries to project some level of composure. “No movement for you,” he commands breathlessly, clearly too exhausted to think straight. “You’ve got to rest.”

“I’m not frail,” she insists for the nth time since he moved into the Schnee family manor.

He still does not allow her to aid him, continuing his pathetic attempt to lift up heavy folders and boxes until Klein steps into the room, lifting everything with ease. Willow laughs through it all; she is far stronger than Klein, but she appreciates the sentiment. Her father is gone abroad, after all, and Klein is busy building the nursery, so it feels nice to have someone looking out for her, even if the protectiveness is a little over-the-top.

As Klein continues to ferry things in with ease, Jacques walks over to Willow, placing a hand on her stomach gently. There is barely a bump there. They both know, though- and, much to her delight, he looks _so proud._

For once, she is happy that she has been giving this opportunity to give life. It feels nice, being looked at like this: beyond her worth on the battlefield- beyond her family name.

**x**

**nine**

**x**

“Hi, baby.”

In that one moment, Willow Schnee understands the one, undeniable truth that shall define her forever and always:

This crying, squealing, red-faced and bedraggled creature in her arms is _her little girl_ , and Willow will love, protect, and cherish her, forever.

**x**

**one**

**x**

She does not know why she has chosen this bar. It is not as if she is a regular of Mantle’s nightlife, after all; however, she has made a promise to herself that the first vacation she has had in almost six months shall not be spent sleeping again. At least she shall be able to say she did _something_ during her week off.

It is terribly boring, though; the eyes which watch her are always the same. Curious about her serene beauty, inherited from her mother’s dainty lineage- awed once recognition sets in for her face, her family, her rank-

And distaste once they realize just how powerful, how strong and built and fierce she is as one of Atlas’ top Huntresses.

So it is an undeniable surprise to have a drink handed over to her, to see thin, curious eyes remain intrigued even as awe sets in. She looks up at the stranger, dark hair contrasting so well with pale skin and fierce, intelligent eyes which examine her from head to toe.

Then, thin lips quirk up in a pleased smile, and he begins to speak.

She drinks one drink with him, then two. Glasses come and go. He is entertaining, she realizes; so different from the warriors which surround her every day. He reminds her a little of her father, his lean figure and trim suit betraying his occupation in business before the words can ever slip past his lips. He is not a fighter at all.

But he has a way with words, and a glimmer of ambition in his eyes that is captivating. He talks of dreams of making the world a better place despite the fact that they sit in the cesspools of Mantle. It is oddly charming to see someone so bright still retain that earnest aura, but she does not see the lie in his eyes.

Their dreams match- she will fulfill it on the battlefield, and he shall do it in politics, or in finances, or in _something._ “Whatever’s hiring,” he jokes, for the economy is not exactly bright for any non-Huntsmen not working in Dust or technology these days.

That way with words is what wins her over in the end; and, as it turns out, what keeps her interested after they have both fallen into each other’s arms, their names on the other’s lips after their movements cease. He whispers praise and affection and admiration long after he needs to. For that night, she is happy.

**x**

**five**

**x**

For some reason, finding out that the child within her womb is female makes it all even more daunting; and yet, Willow is oddly inspired by the idea. “What if she becomes a Huntress like me?” she murmurs, looking at the ultrasound dreamily. “She… she might want to go to the academy.”

“I’d rather she works on inheriting the company,” Jacques murmurs, squeezing her shoulder. “After all, who will take over after your father and I have retired? We can’t give it to a stranger, after all.

She hums in response, still focused on the idea of attending another graduation parade- this time, however, as a parent, not a student. “I mean, you know that I’m happy fighting. If she has the aptitude for it- if she inherits my Semblance-“ and she reaches out her hand, summoning with ease a tiny Megoliath formed of pure white Aura in her palm, much to the chagrin of the terrified doctor- “then it would be a waste to not let her pursue that path.”

“What if she gets hurt?” Jacques asks quietly, his grip on her tightening fiercely until she dismisses the summoning. “You can’t be wishing your daughter to suffer, right?”

 _That_ is a possibility which has never even occurred to her.

She swallows thickly, letting out a long, weary sigh. “…we’ll just have to wait and see,” she says with a wan smile.

He does not smile back. His heart is set.

That… saddens her, just a bit. She’s proud of being a Huntress, after all.

**x**

**three**

**x**

“Your paperwork’s all in order for your maternity leave. The due date’s when?”

“December 21st,” Willow replies, lifting her chin slightly to hide the quaver which threatens to creep into her voice. It still does not feel real.

The clerk in the academy’s logistics office nods, a small smile on her face. “Ah, the first day of winter- not like anything really changes here, I suppose,” the woman chuckles, inputting all of Willow’s data into the system to guarantee her paid leave. “The storms calm down a bit, though. That’ll be nice.”

Willow smiles back, but she does not join in the laughter. She simply looks out of the window, lost in thought. The first day of the new season shall be the first day of her new _life._

It feels so far away, considering how it is not even summer yet. She wonders if it will softly snow that day. She quite likes the fresh snow.

**x**

**eight**

**x**

The sheer size (or lack thereof) of infants does not hit her until she is looking at the little booties lined up beside the rest of the gifts her father’s business partners and some of her colleagues have been sending her, filling up the awaiting dresser before she could even register needing it.

Thankfully, Klein is always there. He always knows what is going on. That is why she does not protest when he insists on helping her walk to the nursery he has finally finished decorating, the excitement and affection shining in his eyes something truly magical.

It is perfect; a cozy crib lined with stuffed toy sits in the corner, painted snowflakes mingle with little stars upon the ceiling in silver and gold, and chairs perfect for Willow to sit in and nurse or read books to the child are spread throughout the room. There are toys all neatly organized and a dresser with clothes is already stocked for the first five years of the baby’s life, at least.

“Someone would think it’s _your_ baby coming,” she chuckles wryly, taking it all in after a moment of stunned silence.

“I shall treat her with even more care than if it was, Miss Willow,” he responds kindly. He sneezes, eyes flashing red. “And if anyone tries ta tell ya that ya don’t need to spend time with her or that you should be goin’ back to yer duties, just lemme know, miss, and I’ll sort ‘em right out, ya hear me?” He sneezes a few more times, and the usual amber of his eyes finally returns.

She rolls her eyes, but accepts his help anyways to shuffle over to the crib. Her ankles are swollen, aching terribly thanks to the tremendous weight she now carries.

 _There’s going to be a child here soon,_ she thinks, gently rubbing overtop of where she feels yet another vigorous kick from within. The crib shall be filled in but a few weeks. She can picture the little form wriggling underneath the soft blankets already spread within.

The past eight months have moved by so fast- is that what parenting is going to be like, too? Will her baby be born, and then the next day, move out? Will Willow have to say goodbye one day? After all, if her daughter joins Atlas Academy, she could be posted anywhere around the world as a soldier, as a Huntress. If she follows her father’s footsteps, then she’ll be busy with the company, travelling across the world just as Willow’s father did to find more Dust, more company partners, more clients.

The crib shall be filled, and then, it shall be empty, just like that.

As usual, Klein knows what she is thinking. “We’ll treasure the time she’s here, always,” he murmurs, handing her a fresh handkerchief with which she can dry her eyes.

She smiles a watery smile, blotting away tears which have yet to fall. “Do you think she’ll come back to visit?” she murmurs.

“I’m sure she will! She’ll be a happy child, after all, with her parents here,” Klein replies with the utmost confidence. “And you _know_ I make the best cocoa. She won’t be able to stay away for too long!”

She nods slowly. _We’ll be here for her. Jacques and I. We can do this._

The pride in Klein’s eyes shifts, however. With a coy smile, he gestures for them to move along, opening up a high cupboard within the room, well out of any child’s reach. With deft hands, he removes a box and opens it up, showing her a small wine bottle. It has been bottled on the first day of this new year. “I bought this for you,” he murmurs, a wry grin upon his lips. “It’s for when the little miss is grown up- for her coming-of-age birthday. She’ll be happy and healthy and we can open this for her, and toast to many more years in this manor.”

It is ridiculous just how easily the younger man’s words cut through her tension just like that. Willow smiles. “…yeah. Yes, I’d like that.” She pauses, chuckling as she admits, “I’m not sure Jacques would feel super comfortable knowing that we’re planning how to get our little girl to drink-“

“Then he doesn’t have to know! You’re the Schnee, don’t forget,” he says, a scandalous air in his voice.

She gasps, scoffs, smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “That’s my husband,” she chides.

He does not respond, but his smile speaks volumes.

She appreciates Klein. He has been a breath of fresh air in this manor whilst she hobbles around, leaving Jacques to learn the family business and her father to set it up for an incoming Schnee. She tells him this, leaving him happy and flustered as they leave the nursery, and she is content.

Her baby shall be there soon- just a few weeks. She never thought she would ever feel this excited, but the image of tiny little feet filling those tiny little boots fills her with such an indescribable warmth that she cannot help but beam, one hand on her stomach, her heart already anticipating meeting her little girl face-to-face at last.

**x**

**six**

**x**

“I think I want to name her Winter.”

Jacques raises a brow, putting down his fork and clasping his hands together. “Oh?”

She nods, glancing out of the window. The first autumnal storms have brought with them sleets and snows that sting and bite, ferociously destroying whatever dregs of sunlight the summertime months had brought to Solitas. “She’s going to be born on the first day of the season,” she explains. “It’s simple and elegant, and if she inherits my Semblance, it’ll suit her, too.”

Jacques nods slowly, taking it in. His lips curve, raise, warmth blossoming in his features as he adds, “It matches the ‘w’ naming scheme, too. Like mother, like daughter.” He picks up his fork again, cutting through roast lamb, a reflective glint in his eyes. “Winter Schnee. That’s a good name. We should tell your father- he’s been wanting to start sorting out wills and all that for months.”

She nods, but her mind drifts off as he continues to talk of paperwork, her gaze landing back upon the window. Despite the storm, she can imagine the gentle snows which the turn from fall to winter always brings- the way the world seems to calm down, the air too frigid for even precipitation to drop, unless it is naught but a quiet, peaceful snowfall.

“I hope she likes that name,” she murmurs, eyes transfixed on the image in her mind of a toddler playing in those first winter snows in the future, her hair shimmering silvery-white, reflecting sunlight just as Willow’s does, dressed in little boots and mittens and scarves and _love_.

“I’m sure she will,” Jacques replies, grinning reassuringly before turning back to his dinner.

Willow does not mind, for she knows he does not understand the magnitude of this situation for her. He may never understand. She has never wanted to be a mother, after all, resigning herself to a life of solitude serving the people.

She never thought she’d have a partner either, though. Jacques has been good to her these past six months. She is happy.

… _I’m happy._ She places her hand on her stomach. _And I’ll do my best to protect you two, and make sure you’re happy, too, Winter._

And she finds that despite all of her fears and heartache, Willow still cannot wait to meet her little Winter Schnee. They shall play in the snow together. Willow will be her home. It shall be wonderful.

**_-fin-_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
